The weekend is drawing to a close when Castiel makes the call.
He doesn't mean to, he tells himself. Tells himself he just wants to hear a friendly voice. The flowers in the garden are dying, untended to. Castiel hasn't left the house since he came home from work. He's not certain he's in a state in which that's still easily possible for him.
Jason leaves to go drinking in the early afternoon, ordering Castiel to stay put. The fallen angel isn't certain he could move if he wanted to. He loves Jason, he belongs to Jason, but... but Jason has scared him for the first time this weekend. He's used to being talked out of using his safe word - or being punished for using it. He's used to the hands that promised kindness delivering pain without rhyme or reason. He's used to not knowing what rules they're playing with.
He's not used to being actually scare while in bed with his partner. Used to fearing the consequences of his every move, yes. But not used to fearing for his long-term wellbeing. He's a soldier - bruises and abrasions heal, he can deal with them. He can deal with a great amount of pain and torture.
But right now... right now...
His hands are tied in front of him, which is how he's been able to get his phone and type a short message. He's naked, but his smooth, tan skin is yellow-green and angry-red and purple-black in too many places, showing where he was grabbed, hit, tossed around, knocked into furniture, whipped, caned, cut, bitten. The sheets are spattered with a little red, the house is full of broken dishes and glass. The bathtub is full of cold water, and Castiel's head and shoulders are wet.
He writes 'Leviathan', because he needs the scene to be over... just over. He's too weak, he's not a good sub, but he just needs out, just for a moment. Jason will be angry, but Castiel will make it up to him... just...
The text goes to Dean, not out of preference but because Castiel doesn't have the energy to scroll further down in his sparse contact, the list that goes Dean, Jason, Kevin, Sam. And then he closes his eyes - one of them is swollen shut, the other is wet. And just waits.
no subject
He doesn't mean to, he tells himself. Tells himself he just wants to hear a friendly voice. The flowers in the garden are dying, untended to. Castiel hasn't left the house since he came home from work. He's not certain he's in a state in which that's still easily possible for him.
Jason leaves to go drinking in the early afternoon, ordering Castiel to stay put. The fallen angel isn't certain he could move if he wanted to. He loves Jason, he belongs to Jason, but... but Jason has scared him for the first time this weekend. He's used to being talked out of using his safe word - or being punished for using it. He's used to the hands that promised kindness delivering pain without rhyme or reason. He's used to not knowing what rules they're playing with.
He's not used to being actually scare while in bed with his partner. Used to fearing the consequences of his every move, yes. But not used to fearing for his long-term wellbeing. He's a soldier - bruises and abrasions heal, he can deal with them. He can deal with a great amount of pain and torture.
But right now... right now...
His hands are tied in front of him, which is how he's been able to get his phone and type a short message. He's naked, but his smooth, tan skin is yellow-green and angry-red and purple-black in too many places, showing where he was grabbed, hit, tossed around, knocked into furniture, whipped, caned, cut, bitten. The sheets are spattered with a little red, the house is full of broken dishes and glass. The bathtub is full of cold water, and Castiel's head and shoulders are wet.
He writes 'Leviathan', because he needs the scene to be over... just over. He's too weak, he's not a good sub, but he just needs out, just for a moment. Jason will be angry, but Castiel will make it up to him... just...
The text goes to Dean, not out of preference but because Castiel doesn't have the energy to scroll further down in his sparse contact, the list that goes Dean, Jason, Kevin, Sam. And then he closes his eyes - one of them is swollen shut, the other is wet. And just waits.